The Perfect Paddle and the Perfect Tree

We are driving down Old Seney Road, a shortcut between Lake Nawakwa and H-58 which will take us back to our house on Lake Superior. We have been canoeing on Lake Nawakwa, a very big lake with almost no houses on it, deep with thick forests all around, which we found out later is owned by an oral surgeon from Cleveland of all places, and my husband lays out for me the post he thinks I should write about our canoe trip. He wants me to tell the story of how it was, as he puts it, the perfect paddle.

And I agree with him. It was sublime. Not another human or vessel on the lake, the water very still until we got hot and then the wind would stir just a bit to make paddling cooling and effortless, enough water lilies to remember what they looked like when they…

What happens here on Red's Wrap is all over the map. There is no single theme, no overarching gripe, no malady of my own or others that dominates. I write about what seems important or interesting at the moment. It could be about gracefully handling my own aging, being a good feminist, or finding out what it means to be a decent mother and grandmother. Nothing stays the same, here or anywhere. That's a good thing. Happiness. It's relative.

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A collection of Jan Wilberg's essays about motherhood available from Amazon.com

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